Aries

LVII

Johann and Wolff were wading their way through the dense scrub, which had been bogging them down for days and showed no sign of thinning out. The soft, moss-covered ground beneath their feet was not making things any easier either. It was dusk and the trees were turning black in the receding rays of the sun.

They were unbearably hot in their pilgrim habits, trudging along on foot now since the terrain had been impassable on horseback.

The habits had enabled them to reach Savoy undetected but the sooner they could rid themselves of them the better, as far as Johann was concerned. He felt nothing but admiration for the pious men who bore the discomfort of those coarse, thick garments so patiently.

Johann stopped, pulled out his waterskin and took a few gulps. Then he handed it to Wolff who guzzled down what was left.

‘It can’t be far now,’ said Wolff, out of breath.

‘I’ve heard that before, in fact I’ve been hearing it since–’ Johann broke off suddenly and raised his hand.

‘What’s the matter?’ Wolff scoured the woods frantically for signs of danger but there was nothing.

Then he heard it too: a distant boom, muffled as if by a blanket.

The two men looked stonily at each other. ‘Canons!’ said Wolff, through his teeth. Johann nodded silently. Then they summoned all their strength and made their way as fast as they could in the direction of the noise.

At last the forest thinned out and twilight peeped through the branches–there were flashes in the sky, followed by short bursts of cannon fire.

Reaching the edge of the wood, the two men stopped in their tracks and stared at the spectacle in front of them as if the curtain had just gone up on the opening scene of a play.

Before them lay the broad, fertile Po plain of Piedmont, bordered by the snow-covered Alps, which extended in the shape of a half-moon from the north, through the west and all the way to the south. The fields were tilled and the countryside looked as it if were settling down nicely for the night, were it not for the odd pillar of smoke coming from the far-flung villages, which spoke of terror.

It was not the baleful sight in the distance, however, that had caught Johann’s attention but rather what was going on at the foot of the hill on which they were standing. Military units had taken up position to the north and west of a large, fortified city and had opened artillery fire.

‘Looks like the Frenchies have made it to Turin,’ remarked Wolff in a deadpan voice. Johann made no reply. He was glancing around, trying to get the lay of the land.

Turin itself was enclosed by an almost circular, jagged defence wall with dozens of ravelins and bastions and protected by a moat. Inside the city, the streets were laid out like a chessboard and there were towers and church spires, monuments and sweeping, blue-roofed palaces stretching up into the sky.

Johann could see isolated fires on some of the outbuildings of the defence wall, testimony to the doggedness of the besiegers, but they were insignificant in size and showed that the defence had things under control.

In the south west, the defence wall ended in a particularly massive bulwark–the citadel. The last place of refuge for a city on the brink of invasion, thought Johann.

But it had not got to that yet.

The city extended in the east to the banks of the Po, which were heavily fortified, preventing any attempt at a pincer movement.

‘The city is impregnable,’ exclaimed Wolff with admiration.

‘Nothing is impregnable,’ retorted Johann, ‘but the death toll will be staggering. The man who built the fortress, what was his name?’ Johann hesitated for a moment, then he snapped his fingers. ‘Emanuele Filiberto, that’s the chap. He did everything he could to ensure that besiegers had a tough time of it, including stuff we can’t even see.’ Johann pointed to the deep-rooted bushes planted on the glacis, making trench-digging a long and hard slog.

Wolff nodded and smiled. ‘The defence wall looks the same as the one round Vienna. And that cooled off the Mussulmen pretty quickly.’

‘Yeah, but that was twenty years ago and the Turks are not outstanding besiegers. But the French are.’ Johann pointed to the northern side of the city, where there was an extensive encampment, with a system of trenches extending like a spider’s web towards the city.

From there, mortars were being fired at the bastions.

Wolff looked at Johann with irritation. ‘For a common soldier who’s deserted his unit you’re extraordinarily well versed in warfare. ‘

‘Abbot Bernardin gave me a book or two about it. He believed that education should encompass matters beyond the walls of the monastery.’

‘Well then, what’s your assessment of the situation?’

‘The siege will last a few more weeks, the approaches are not close enough yet to the defence walls. The miners won’t be able to go to work till that’s been done. Also, I don’t believe what we see here is the whole of La Feuillade’s army, that’s said to comprise over forty thousand men, and I reckon there are not more than ten thousand men here.’

‘A vanguard to test the strength of the defences.’

Johann nodded. ‘Yes, to test their ability to stand up to mortars and miners and their resistance to a fatal disease.’

‘If I were Gamelin, I’d simply catapult them in,’ remarked Wolff.

Johann stared at him, taken aback.

‘I didn’t mean–’ began Wolff hurriedly.

‘That’s okay, I know what you meant,’ said Johann. ‘But flinging people over 40-foot high walls would not be very effective for they’d be killed on impact. With plague corpses that wouldn’t matter but Gamelin’s sick have to stay alive long enough to spread the disease. A strategically better option would be to dig a mine in the city or in their trench system and then smuggle a few diseased people in.’

‘But then the French might as well invade the city at the same time,’ said Wolff, with a frown.

‘So that everything ends in a bottleneck and the defence can calmly shoot the French one by one as they come out of the tunnel? You’re a good soldier, Wolff, but you’ve got no idea about strategy.’

‘My sweethearts wouldn’t agree with you there, ‘retorted Wolff drily.

Johann thumped him on the shoulder with a grin. ‘We’ll manage the last lap together, won’t we?’

Wolff replied by walking off along the hillcrest to his left. He had only gone a couple of steps when he stopped short–a gold cross twinkled through the treetops.

Wolff gestured to Johann to be quiet. He ducked down and crept through the thick juniper bushes, which were a perfect cover. Johann followed him.

After a short while, they spied a drum-shaped building a bit like a cathedral but on a smaller scale with a gold cross on top of it. There was a longish building adjoining it.

Soldiers in grey infantry uniforms with blue lapels and black, three-cornered hats and armed with flintlock muskets were patrolling outside.

‘Frenchmen,’ whispered Wolff.

‘Yeah, they’re probably keeping an eye on the terrain for the artillery observers,’ said Johann. ‘Let’s go back.’

The two men turned round and stopped suddenly: in front of them stood a man in a dark brown monk’s cassock, which was fastened round his waist with a light cord. His cowl was pulled so far down over his face that his eyes were hidden and all that could be seen was his exuberant beard. In his right hand he was holding a wicker basket filled with berries.

‘Pilgrims from Austria?’ he asked, in a strong Italian accent.

Johann and Wolff nodded hastily.

The monk turned round and walked into the forest. Johann and Wolff looked at each other, unsure what to do. The monk waved at them impatiently. ‘Follow me.’

As soon as they were out of sight of the cloister and the guards, the monk stopped and turned to them. He pushed back his cowl, revealing a well-groomed tonsure. A pair of piercing blue eyes looked at them. ‘I assume you’re not here just to enjoy the fresh Piedmont air. You’d better keep your voices down. By the look of your habits, you’re clearly pretending to be something you’re not. But I’m not interested in who or what you were back home. There’s only thing I want to know: what are doing here?’ The monk spoke with such authority that Wolff and Johann were taken aback.

‘Well?’ the monk asked impatiently.

For a second Johann thought of killing the man but then he quickly changed his mind. If he had wanted to betray them, all he had needed to do was call the soldiers.

‘Captain Wolff from the Viennese Central Patrol,’ said Wolff, standing to attention.

‘Johann List. We’re not after you or the French,’ began Johann. ‘But we’re after something the French have got. Someone, I mean,’ he added, hurriedly correcting himself.

The monk gave him such a piercing look that it felt to Johann as if he were peering into the depths of his soul. ‘We Capuchins don’t take sides and we don’t get involved in acts of war. But we do care for those who suffer as a result,’ he explained, less strident now. ‘I believe what you say and therefore I advise you to be on your guard. The whole region surrounding Turin is teeming with scouts of the French who are making short shrift of anyone they don’t know by face. They’ve already brought much suffering to Rivoli, Gunze and Lucento, and it’s getting worse every day.’

‘That’s not our game,’ said Wolff reassuringly, staring at the berries in the Capuchin’s basket.

‘Then I hope you find what you’re looking for. And so that you don’t have to do that on an empty stomach, here!’ cried the monk, holding the basket out to Wolff.

The lieutenant grabbed two handfuls of berries and stuffed them into his mouth. ‘Thank you,’ he sputtered.

‘God be with you! May He help you to survive the occupation of your monastery,’ said Johann, who was also busy scooping up two handfuls of berries.

The monk smiled and was about to bid them farewell when something suddenly occurred to him. ‘Avoid Castello del Valentino downstream of the Po. The French have occupied that too. And get rid of your habits. The French are forcing many men from the region to enlist, you’ll be less conspicuous in normal clothes.’

He gave them a quick wink. ‘It’s a complete mystery to me how anyone with two eyes in his head could mistake you two for pious pilgrims.’

‘People see what they want to see,’ said Johann.

‘Wise words. God be with you.’ And making a hurried sign of the cross, the monk was gone.

Johann and Wolff looked at each other, their mouths smeared with berries.

‘Now what?’ said Wolff, munching away.

‘Now we climb down the hill and stay the night near the shore. Tomorrow we’ll do some reconnoitring and see how we can smuggle ourselves into the French camp.’

‘Do you think Elisabeth is already in the camp?’

‘I don’t even dare think about it!’ retorted Johann and then he did just that.

LVIII

The chamois kid had strayed a long way from the others and it was so busy tugging the moss off the stones and gobbling it down that it didn’t notice the dark silhouette silently circling in the sky above. By the time it had heard the battle cry it was too late–the eagle swooped down, claws splayed, and pounced on the kid.

The other chamois, who were grazing some distance away, scattered at once. Bleating pitifully, the kid tried to flee–in vain, for the eagle was already burying its claws into its skull and lugging it into the air. Within the space of a few moments the chamois kid was dead. The eagle flew off triumphantly with its prey and vanished behind the mountains.

The Prussian gazed pensively after the bird. ‘A proven tactic, that. Attack and scarper.’

Von Freising and Ludwig had been watching too. ‘We Tyrolese have been dealing with our invaders like that for centuries,’ said Ludwig. ‘Exploit the terrain and wear down the enemy. The Bavarians learnt that to their cost last year.’

‘Then you’re smarter than our high generals,’ replied the Prussian, thoughtfully. ‘They’ve nothing better to do than set soldiers at each other till there’s only one left to call himself a victor.’

Ludwig smiled bitterly. ‘It’s all the same in the end. The soldiers are the ones that die.’

They had reached the summit of the pass, which had a weathervane cross standing on top of it. In the shadow of the cross, the three men gazed down at the valley below with its forests and meadows. There was the odd tree clinging to the rocky slopes that swept up from the valley to the mountains and above them the peaks were lost in the clouds.

The valley looked deserted, no rising smoke, no signs of human life.

‘And our route’s through there, is it?’ inquired the Prussian sceptically.

Von Freising nodded. ‘Through the valley, then left over a pass. It’s not far from there.’

‘That’s something at least,’ remarked the Prussian, stretching and yawning. ‘It’ll soon be dark. I don’t suppose there’s anywhere round here we can stay the night?’

Von Freising shook his head. ‘The hamlet we passed yesterday morning was the last inhabited place. There’s a farm on the outer reaches of the valley, where I used to stay when I was on my way to a visitation. But it’s,’ he hesitated a moment, ‘been abandoned in the meantime too. And we wouldn’t have been able to reach it today anyway.’

The Prussian shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ll find some place or other.’ He glanced back at Markus, Hans and Karl who were teetering along the narrow, broken path, making their way towards the summit.

The Prussian’s eyes wandered back to the top of the pass and came to rest on the cross.

It was old and battered by the weather, unlike the countless crucifixes and pictures of saints they had seen so far in Tyrol, all of them lovingly maintained.

There was something painted in red on the cross–the Prussian narrowed his eyes. It looked like some sort of symbol but it was faded and hard to make out.

‘I know Tyrol very well but I’ve never seen the likes of that before,’ remarked Ludwig.

‘You can see that sign everywhere in this region,’ explained von Freising. ‘It’s a pentacle. Used as protection against them.’

‘Much good they did the village!’ remarked the Prussian drily. ‘Mind you–’

‘A cross at every turn,’ they heard Hans saying as he came up behind them. ‘Even the Lord himself can learn something about piety from Tyrol.’

They turned round. Hans, Karl and Markus had reached the pass summit and were riding towards them. They reined in their horses in front of the cross. ‘I’ve had more than enough of this country,’ said Karl, with a scowl. ‘Nothing but valleys and mountains for days on end! No sign of a tavern anywhere.’

The Prussian grinned. ‘You and Markus put away enough food and drink to satisfy a whole company in Innsbruck. It’s a miracle Ludwig didn’t charge us more.’

‘I charged you a special price since you’re friends of Johann,’ said Ludwig, grinning.

‘That meal was way back in Innsbruck,’ grumbled Karl. ‘Long forgotten now.’

‘You’d rather be with your Margarethe, living off her like a bee in clover, I bet!’ taunted Hans.

Karl looked at him coolly. ‘You can talk, with your little nun.’

‘Heavens above, what prattlers you are!’ cried von Freising, raising his arms towards the sky. ‘You can carry on your chatter later but first we have to find shelter for the night.’

He and the Prussian turned their horses towards the valley. Behind them, they heard Hans’s voice. ‘I’m telling you, the way she looked at me, I was in with a pretty good chance.’

Von Freising rolled his eyes.

As darkness fell, they came across a derelict barn in a meadow.

‘Better than nothing,’ remarked the Prussian.

Von Freising nodded. They jumped off their horses, tied them to what remained of a fence and went towards the barn.

Above the entrance was a faded symbol, resembling the one they had seen on the cross on the pass.

The men were sitting round the fire, which they had lit in the centre of the barn. The place was empty and the floor was rock hard so there was no danger of anything catching fire.

Silently, they ate the soup that Ludwig had hurriedly put together from flour, water, bacon and scraps of bread. It was hot and that was all that mattered. Afterwards they had some dried meat and some cheese.

When they were finished von Freising pulled out his water skin, opened it deftly with his left hand, took a gulp and offered it to the others. They declined with a wince, except for Ludwig who grabbed it unwittingly and took a big swig. Then he handed it back to von Freising with an appreciative nod.

The others watched him keenly. At first nothing happened, then his face turned red and he was seized with such a violent fit of coughing that tears streamed from his eyes.

The men grinned.

‘I knew it!’ said Ludwig, in between gasps. ‘Never trust a parson!’

Von Freising blithely took another gulp and smacked his lips.

The Prussian shook his head. ‘With respect, Father, why don’t you give the Black Guard some of your schnapps? They’d turn round and head for home in no time.’

‘The Black Guard balks at nothing, least of all my schnapps,’ said von Freising, putting the water skin back in his bag and clearing his throat. ‘I only hope we reach the village before Sovino and his men. If we do, remember what I told you. The outcasts are not hostile towards us. But in all the years they’ve haven’t experience much good from people. Keep behind me and let me do the talking.’

Hans stared morosely into the fire. ‘On foreign territory and surrounded by monsters. Sounds familiar. But why are we back in the same place again?’

‘Where would you rather be?’ said Markus calmly. ‘You and Karl are wanted men, and I’m a Protestant.’ He glanced at von Freising and then at Ludwig and the Prussian. ‘We’re exactly where we belong.’

No one said a word. They knew Markus was right.

It was quiet except for the crackling of the logs in the fire and the sound of the men’s breathing as they lay wrapped up asleep in their blankets.

Von Freising was awake thinking about what was to come. Even if the outcasts believed them, they’d have little or no chance of conquering Sovino and his Black Guard–they were unscrupulous, battle-tried and well-armed.

He watched his sleeping comrades. On the other hand, he had with him the bravest men he could wish for. If the Almighty were on their side–

Like in Vienna, you mean?

Von Freising tried to silence the voice inside him. It spoke of something that was forbidden, but that had been secretly tormenting him since Vienna.

You are doubting.

No, that’s not true. God moves in mysterious ways.

That’s what the Dominicans said, when they decided that the sick should be killed. That’s also what Mayor Tepser said, when he sentenced the sick to death. That’s what–

No! He banished the thoughts. The next few days were no time for doubts, he would need all the strength and all the faith he could muster.

The wind blew in through the cracks in the walls of the barn so that the fire flickered.

Von Freising rubbed his bandage absentmindedly. The stump had begun to itch again. That was a good sign for it meant that the wound was healing and there was no gangrene. He had been lucky.

Not just lucky.

‘Looks like they know a thing or two about the art of healing back there in the abbey.’

Von Freising looked up. Markus had opened his eyes and was pointing to the bandage. ‘I’ve seen plenty of men die from such injuries, after being patched up by those butchers on the slaughter fields. But I’ve never seen anyone able to get straight back on his horse again.’

‘There’s only one person I have to thank for that,’ said von Freising effusively. ‘The Abbess used to be the abbey apothecary–one of the best in Göss.’

Markus observed him curiously. ‘The Abbess herself took care of you? She seems very fond of you.’

Von Freising smiled but refrained from commenting.

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,’ remarked Markus. ‘We’re all of us human, even the Lord’s servants.’

Von Freising shook his head. ‘It’s not what you think.’

‘Father, I didn’t mean–’

‘You should get some sleep. We’ll need all our strength tomorrow.’

Markus looked steadily back at him. ‘That applies to you too.’

Von Freising smiled. ‘Thank you for your concern. I shall pray and then take a rest too.’

Markus closed his eyes again. Soon he was breathing deeply and sound asleep. Von Freising gazed into the fire. He was thinking of the Abbess and everything that had happened.

The hysteria after the exorcism in Loudun. The cloisters in the iron grip of the Inquisition.

The blazing stakes, on which the nuns were burnt to death.

Göss, a voice–her voice. ‘Father von Freising, help us!’

And how he had prevented the Inquisition in the nick of time from going to Göss.

He had seen much in his life, including things he had not been able to explain.

But he had always been of the opinion that there were natural explanations for most things.

As for the nuns accused of being possessed by the devil, well he had seen no sign of Old Nick amongst them. But he had seen him clearly in the eyes of those coming to drive him out.

Sovino too would be carrying the devil inside him when he attacked the village. He would fulfil his mission and, in the name of the Saviour, and for the umpteenth time, he would destroy all those who were different.

But this time von Freising would fight. He might have failed in Vienna–but in Tyrol he would triumph. And if he died in the process, at least he would be able to meet his Creator with head held high.

The Jesuit threw a few more logs on the fire and began to pray silently.

LIX

Elisabeth’s wrists, chafed and sore from the coarse rope, were becoming increasingly painful. She was pinioned to a stake and could only sleep sitting up. Time seemed to stand still, though the roar of the cannons, the neighing of horses and the imperious commands of the officers were proof that outside her tent the world was turning still.

Gamelin and Brenner had stumbled across French troops and had made her ride the rest of the way blindfolded. The roar of the cannons had got louder and louder, which had put Gamelin in a state of almost euphoria, and then, finally, they had tied her up here like a piece of cattle awaiting slaughter.

Even though Elisabeth was loath to admit it to herself, time was running out and her hope of rescue fading with every passing moment.

Suddenly there were footsteps and Gamelin came into the tent.

‘Stand up, my little dove! No need to humble yourself before me.’

Elisabeth dragged herself to her feet. Only now did she realise how much her knees were hurting.

‘I’ve received news to the effect,’ he went on cheerily, ‘that Maréchal La Feuillade will be arriving in two or three days’ time. So it’s been worth waiting.’

Although she knew what that meant, Elisabeth looked at him unmoved.

‘And then we can get started.’

‘Don’t think I’m going to help you with your plan!’ said Elisabeth.

‘You won’t have to,’ retorted Gamelin, pulling out a dagger from his bootleg and holding it to Elisabeth’s wrist. ‘I shall simply make a little incision in your white flesh and have some of your blood smeared onto the wounds of other prisoners. Then we shall see whether something doesn’t happen right before La Feuillade’s eyes–something that will turn out to be a blessing for our soldiers and a curse for the people of Turin.’

Elisabeth spat into his face.

Gamelin glowered at her. He wiped his face with a white handkerchief then grabbed Elisabeth roughly by the chin. ‘I’m starting to get a little tired of your cussedness! How would you like me to cut that brat out of your belly when I’ve finished with you?’

With a demonic look in his eye, he pulled Elisabeth closer to him. He was not making empty threats, she knew that.

‘Is that what you want?’ he repeated.

She shook her head, and though she had resolved to be strong, tears welled up in her eyes.

Gamelin patted her cheek. ‘Good girl.’ Then he let her go and went towards the entrance of the tent.

‘General!’ Elisabeth swallowed and did her best to make her voice sound as sturdy as possible.

‘Yes, my love?’ asked Gamelin, turning round in amusement.

‘Would you untie the ropes and have me put in chains instead? They don’t chafe as much.’

He shook his head. ‘No, the interminable rattling of chains get on my nerves. Au revoir!’

He left the tent and Elisabeth sank despondently to her knees.

LX

The morning began as the evening had ended, with the relentless boom of cannons across the countryside, sometimes closer, sometimes further away.

Johann stretched and blinked in the fragile morning sunlight, which was gently warming their hideout of moss.

Beside him lay Wolff, snoring as if he were sawing down the whole of the Wienerwald, thought Johann, who couldn’t help smiling. He shook him by the shoulder.

Wolff woke up with a start and went for his sabre.

‘You’d better save that for later,’ said Johann, getting to his feet.

He stepped through the protective foliage and scanned the countryside. The river, flowing gently by in front of him, would prove to be problematic for downstream on the other side of the shore lay Castello, which the monk had warned them about.

Taking a deep breath of fresh morning air, Johann admired the beauty of the building in front of him, in spite of the danger it posed. The U-shaped, inner courtyard to the rear was paved with marble and the blue mansard roofs, with tower-like structures at each of their corners, formed a pleasing contrast to the ornate façade. The rectangular inner courtyard at the front of the building swept down to the river and was surrounded by a thick wall.

If they catch sight of us there, we’re dead. Johann scrutinized the swathe between the fort and the town. It was narrow and as there were no trees for cover they would be spotted immediately.

Wolff came up beside him and followed his gaze. ‘Now that, gentlemen, is what I call a real pleasure palace!’ he said admiringly, gazing at the fort. I wouldn’t mind barracking myself in there for some close questioning!’

Wolff’s cheeky grin left no doubt about what he meant.

‘You can go and check if the place is really full of French chambermaids, if you like’ rejoined Johann. ‘And I’ll cut you down from the tree afterwards.’

Wolff’s grin gave way to a grunt of refusal. ‘I think I’ll wait till I get back again to Vienna, and to -‘

‘- cuddly Maria and eloquent Anna, I know,’ said Johann, smiling and finishing the sentence for him. Then he was serious. ‘We’ve got to get by the palace undetected and then head southwards in the direction of the army encampment,’ he continued. ‘I’m afraid the riverbank will be too steep further down so we’ll have to go back into the woods.’

‘But that would mean running the risk of bumping into a patrol or a sentry. If they spot us now, then we won’t have much chance of sneaking undetected into the camp.’

Johann took off his habit, threw it into the undergrowth and straightened his coat, shirt and breeches, which he had been wearing underneath. ‘What’s your suggestion then?’

Wolff took off his habit too, then he scoured the riverbank until he had found what he was looking for. ‘Come on. It’s better to leave certain things to others sometimes,’ he said cryptically, ducking and climbing down towards the shore.

‘Here!’ said Wolff, holding out a reed to Johann. He put another in his mouth and sucked on it to test its air permeability. Dubiously, Johann did the same.

‘Now all we need is–ah!’ said Wolff, wading along the shallow water’s edge and grabbing a rotting tree trunk. ‘That’ll do for camouflage,’ he muttered, sliding down into the cold water.

He noticed Johann’s hesitation. ‘What’s the matter? Can’t you swim?’

‘Of course I can, but I don’t understand–’

Wolff rolled his eyes, put the reed into his mouth and let himself sink beneath the surface of the water until only his eyes were visible. Then he stood up again and took the reed out of his mouth. ‘Got it? Or shall I draw you a diagram?’

‘Okay, okay,’ muttered Johann, joining Wolff in the water. He was glad that he had had the forethought to place the pages with the remedy in a bottle, which he had buried a few days previously by a signpost.

Slowly, the men let themselves drift along with the current in a southerly direction. They soon picked up speed. Johann managed to suck in just enough air through the reed to stop himself from panicking.

Gradually they approached the palace. They couldn’t see any guards.

Wolff raised his hand out of the water and pointed his thumb down. Then his whole head disappeared under the water.

Johann took another deep breath to be on the safe side, then he too dived under.

There was a loud rush of water in his ears as the icy water engulfed him. The air in his lungs was running out. He opened his eyes wide and saw Wolff in the clear water in front of him, trying to steady himself with his right hand and clutching the tree stump with his left.

Johann was afraid to breathe through the reed and had to stop himself from swimming back up to the surface.

Breathe!

He heard his inner voice but he couldn’t do it. If he could just put his head out of the water a tiny bit …

Breathe, you fool!

He closed his eyes. His rib cage tightened and he felt it cramping.

Suddenly he saw Elisabeth in front of him. He knew then that if he swam to the surface and they were spotted, he would never see her again.

Then breathe damn it!

He sucked the reed as hard as he could–and then he breathed as easily under water as if he had been doing it all his life.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity, they climbed, shivering, out of the water and looked around. They had passed under a little wooden bridge and they could see the fort some distance behind them. In front of them were bushes, as high as a man, blocking their view.

They had made it passed unnoticed.

‘I’ve changed my mind, Wolff. Your strategic approach is not to be scoffed at.’

Wolff winked at him and promptly went off to relieve himself in front of a nearby bush. Johann scoured the opposite bank of the river to make sure no one had been watching them.

‘Even I have problems finding him in this cold temperature,’ joked Wolff. ‘I don’t even want to imagine–’, he broke off suddenly.

Johann turned round and saw the Lieutenant staring rigidly ahead of him.

‘What’s the matter?’ Johann walked towards him as Wolff was slowly parting the bushes, then he saw them too: men and women strung up from the trees, all along the road behind them, leading straight to the palace.

Johann gulped. He would probably never get used to the horrors of war–and that was no bad thing. He walked through the bushes and scoured the road for enemy soldiers but it was deserted.

As he walked gingerly towards the first tree, the crunch of his footsteps on the gravel sounded unnaturally loud. He breathed in deeply but there was no smell of decay in the air.

Must have happened only a day, at most two days ago, he thought.

Someone of those hanged looked as if they were merely sleeping. Others had the mark of death on their faces, with gaping mouths and their eyes staring.

The corpses swayed gently in the wind, like unattended puppets, and the boughs of the trees creaked. There were no birds of the dead around. The clothes of the strangulated bodies were not torn and some of them still had on their work clothes. Their faces were neither swollen nor injured.

They were not tortured then, simply carted here and wrenched from life in an instant.

Johann looked more closely. They all had their hands tied behind their backs with coarse rope, and their wrists were chafed and bluish, like their necks.

The last signs of struggle.

Wolff was shocked as he came up beside Johann. ‘There must be dozens of them here. What on earth did they do?’

‘Who knows, probably they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, together with the guilty few. If there were any guilty, that is.’

Wolff crossed himself.

‘I suspect the French made an example of them as an act of reprisal. We’ll end up the same way, at best, if we’re caught.’ Johann looked at Wolff, who was staring pensively at the avenue of the hanged. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Wolff gave a quick nod. As they hurried away, the first raven settled on the shoulder of one of the dead and began to peck out his eye.

LXI

Sophie was making her way quickly between the houses. The sun had already set between the mountains and dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. The weather was about to turn and Sophie knew that she didn’t have much time to bring in the hay.

Suddenly she heard the sound of horses’ hooves. She froze. Then she began to run towards the last house on the outskirts of the village.

She soon caught sight of some men on horseback coming towards the village. A monk was riding at the front, and behind him–

Sophie peered more closely at them, especially at the tall, burly man who seemed strangely familiar to her. All at once her heart began to pound.

Gottfried?

Von Freising and the others saw a figure standing rooted to the spot in front of a dilapidated house. Otherwise the place was deserted.

Slowly the Jesuit rode towards the figure.

‘Like lambs to the slaughter,’ muttered Karl. Hans nodded. He and the others had had the same feeling ever since they had reached the valley: the darkened, partially burnt-out houses, the forests, the mountains–it all looked like a trap and they were walking straight into it.

Von Freising came to a stop in front of the figure. It was a young woman. She was standing in the shadow of the porch roof and her face was hard to see. He bent down towards her.

‘Good evening! I’m Father von Freising. We’ve come to warn you of great danger. Can you take me to the head of your village?’

The woman stepped out of the shadow and von Freising heard his men gasp in horror. It was one thing to hear the voice of an outcast but quite another to see him in the flesh. Though the woman did not exhibit all the signs of the disease, she was nonetheless a terrifying sight, with her patched up cowl and her deathly pale face, covered with black veins, standing there in front of the burnt-out shell of the house …

The woman looked at the Prussian. Von Freising could have sworn there was disappointment in her face. Then she turned to the monk. ‘Go. If they see you–’

The Jesuit made a deprecatory gesture. ‘Your people already know me. Anselm knows me.’

‘Anselm is dead. Heinrich is in charge of the village now.’

Von Freising was taken aback. ‘Then take me to him.’

The woman hesitated.

Von Freising looked at her earnestly. ‘Please. You must trust us.’

‘I can’t.’ The woman looked again at the Prussian. ‘But I’ll take you to Heinrich all the same.’

‘Thank you,’ said von Freising.

She turned round and walked along the street between the houses. Von Freising dismounted, took his horse by the reins and followed her. The men remained in their saddles, glancing round uneasily.

‘Come on. Nothing’s going to happen to us,’ cried von Freising encouragingly.

‘I wish I had his trust in the Lord,’ grunted Hans.

The Prussian sighed. ‘We can’t let him go alone.’ They got off their horses and followed von Freising and the woman.

As they passed the houses, one door after the other opened and figures stole out, wrapped in cowls and shawls.

Silently they surrounded the men, forming a sinister escort.

The men shrank back at the sight of the white faces under the hoods, with their black veins, cracked lips and pointed teeth. Unlike the young woman, these creatures no longer resembled human beings but were more like the monsters in the fairy stories they had heard as children, creatures of the night, who strove to capture the souls of the living.

The men crossed themselves.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Father,’ said the Prussian in a low voice.

The Jesuit made no reply but continued to follow Sophie, undeterred. She led the men silently towards the old church as its doors slowly opened.

The dark clouds were denser now, Sophie noticed, and she watched as they made their way across the night sky, blotting out the stars.

I dreamt that a storm is coming and will devour us all.

LXII

Johann had climbed a tree and was plucking a leaf from a branch. He closed his eyes and inhaled its scent. Memories of his childhood in the monastery came back to him and of the cherry tree in the garden, his sanctuary.

A time when there had been no horrific deaths. It seemed to belong to another life.

Johann opened his eyes again and stared at the stark reality, which was playing itself out a short distance away. Thick billows of gunsmoke drifted across the fields in front of the city fortifications, and the cannons roared.

How many men were at that moment losing a hand? Or a leg? And how many were being massacred, squashed like insects? Johann struggled to keep a clear head as the thoughts and images surfaced.

When you were fighting on the front, there was no time to think, let alone question what you or someone else was doing. You were forced to act. But sitting in this tree, some distance away from the battlefield, Johann asked himself what it was all for.

He let go of the leaf and tried to make out in the gunsmoke the positions, defences and the extent of the encampment. After a while he climbed down from the tree.

Wolff looked at him with curiosity.

‘The main part of the camp lies to the north and is the best defended. Gamelin and Elisabeth are there, if they’re anywhere,’ said Johann, taking a gulp of water from the waterskin. ‘It looks like the sappers will need a bit longer to get to the glacis.’

‘Good, that gives us a more time to find Elisabeth, doesn’t it?’

Johann nodded. ‘The best thing to do would be to walk around the camp and try to see the best place for us to sneak inside tomorrow morning,’ he suggested.

‘I wouldn’t say no to a bit of grub. You’re looking a bit on the thin side yourself.’

Johann smacked Wolff on the belly. ‘Let’s see …’

Wolff knocked again on the blackened wooden door, this time with his fist. Again there was no response. ‘For crying out loud, open the door!’

At last they heard footsteps warily approaching. The door opened a crack and a trembling old man looked out.

‘Per favore, vi abbiamo già dato tutto,’3 he said in a whimpering voice.

Wolff took a step backwards. ‘Sorry, but–’

‘Austriaco? Austrian?’

Wolff nodded. ‘We’re not here to rob you, we just want to buy a bit of bread. If you please.’

Johann held out ten kreuzer to the man. The old man coughed, then he opened the door fully. ‘Come in’ he said slowly.

The parlour was small and gloomy and there was a low door leading to a side room. The iron stove was glowing and looked as if it had only been lit a short while ago. Apart from the stove and a table, the only other thing in the room was a little chest.

The old man pointed towards a woman, who was sitting at the table with her face buried in her bony hands. ‘This is my dear Grete.’

‘Madam,’ said Wolff, giving a slight bow.

‘You’ll have to excuse us, today was …’ The old man broke off suddenly and wiped a tear from his cheek. ‘Take a seat, you both look as if you could eat a horse.’

He hobbled through the door into the side room. Johann and Wolff sat down at the table, unsure how to behave towards the sobbing woman.

At last, Johann tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she jerked backwards as if the devil himself had touched her.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to–’

‘It’s not your fault,’ said the old man, hobbling back into the room with some sausages.

He put them down and leaned on the table to catch his breath. ‘There’s something you should know. The first soldiers came and stole all the food we had.’

Surprised, Johann looked at the pile of sausages on the table.

‘Everything except what we’d hidden away,’ continued the old man slowly. ‘We thought that would satisfy them but they were of a different opinion.’ He sat down beside his wife and as she raised her head, he took her hand. The face of the old woman was not only swollen from crying but covered in bruises.

Johann and Wolff looked at each other, appalled.

‘Yesterday there were soldiers here again. They took away Luca, our only grandchild. It was time he joined up, they told us.’

The old man looked forlornly at his wife. ‘And then they raped my wife, can you imagine such a thing? Why do we have to get so old? What for? So that we can experience atrocities like that?’

Wolff took the old man’s other hand and squeezed it.

‘Please eat, so that you’ll have the strength to put all this behind you,’ said the woman suddenly in a firm voice. ‘There’s far too much for us.’

Johann put his hand into his money pouch but the old man was already grabbing hold of his wrist. ‘Put it away, you can always pay us tomorrow.’

‘But–’ Johann was lost for words. He looked into the woman’s eyes, all red from sobbing, and he knew it was no good remonstrating.

Johann and Wolff began to eat.

‘What brings you to these parts?’ inquired the woman.

‘We’re looking for a woman,’ replied Johann.

‘Ah, love,’ murmured the old man. ‘They say there’s nothing more important in life than finding love. And once you’ve found it, then you have to give it plenty of care and attention. That’s the only way to keep it alive over the years.’

Although he was aware that he had done the very opposite, Johann nodded. If he and Elisabeth had simply gone on to Leoben, there was a good chance they would have been in Siebenbürgen by now, living a quiet, decent life. He alone was responsible for the terrible consequences–

‘I’m telling you,’ continued the old man, pulling Johann out of his thoughts. ‘I’ve been married fifty years, some people never even get to that age. And I’m still trying to find the right one!’

The woman patted her husband’s wrinkly cheek. ‘You old fool! No one but me would put up with you.’

They looked at each other and smiled.

It did Johann good to see the couple treating each other so affectionately. They radiated the sort of harmony that he too hoped one day to attain.

‘These sausages are the best I’ve ever tasted,’ said Wolff, smacking his lips and ignoring the topic of conversation.

‘You can stay overnight, if you wish. A least that way we’ll feel there’s someone watching over us,’ said the old woman. Her husband nodded in agreement.

Whilst the cannons roared outside, they sat silently enjoying the quiet companionship till the candle on the table had burnt right down.

LXIII

In the church there was a babble of voices. Heinrich, who was standing beside von Freising at the front by the altar, was trying to get everyone’s attention.

‘Listen to me!’

The voices got louder.

‘Listen to me!’ he bellowed.

Suddenly it went quiet and they all turned towards him.

‘Brother von Freising is speaking the truth. We can trust him.’

The Prussian, Hans, Karl, Ludwig and Markus were sitting in a pew right at the front, recovering slowly from the shock of their first encounter with them. The outcasts, so mute and threatening in the darkness of the village, had metamorphosed here inside the church into human beings suffering from a disease, who could think and talk and who did not believe a single word they said.

‘You‘re trying to lure us into a trap,’ cried old Melchior, getting worked up. He pointed to Freising. ‘And you–why should we believe you of all people? You and your people left us high and dry! You only used to come and visit us to see if we’d snuffed it yet!’

‘That’s not true, for why then would I have come back?’ retorted the latter calmly.

‘You could also be in league with that–that Sovino!’ cried Melchior.

Now von Freising started to get angry too. ‘Antonio Sovino is a monster who knows no mercy! I, on the other hand, am here to help you.’

‘That’s what you say. But I say you’re one of them!’ yelled Melchior.

Sophie was sitting beside Anna, holding her hand. There was something about the Jesuit that made her think he was telling the truth. And his words sounded logical and convincing compared to Melchior’s–if von Freising had wanted to harm them, he could have simply joined forces with Sovino and they could have attacked the village together.

Her gaze wandered to the men sitting in the first pew and to the man they called the Prussian.

Now in the candlelight, she wondered how she could have mistaken him for Gottfried. He was certainly tall and well-built but otherwise there was little resemblance. And yet–when the men had ridden towards her a few moments ago and she had caught sight of him, her heart had almost stood still.

Anna squeezed her hand tightly and Sophie was brought back to the present, to the church where the quarrel was becoming more vociferous and where the mood was slowly but surely changing to one of hostility towards those who were offering them help.

Everyone felt it, the tension was almost palpable.

Von Freising and Heinrich looked at each other in despair. Sophie noticed the Prussian’s right hand move towards his side where he must have a weapon hidden.

She felt Anna suddenly let go of her hand. Then the little girl stood up. ‘They’re coming!’

No one was listening. Anna looked desperately at Sophie. ‘They’re coming!’ she repeated, raising her voice.

Somehow Anna’s words managed to penetrate the din. Everyone went quiet. It was almost as if the girl’s voice were coming from inside their own heads.

‘And they’re bringing death with them.’ Anna looked at the Prussian and his men. ‘But not them. They’re telling the truth.’

Everything went still. Dumbfounded, they all looked at the little girl, whose words rang with such terrible finality.

The Prussian got to his feet. ‘The little girl is right! Death is on its way.’ He looked round pointedly at the congregation. ‘This village and these forests will be turned into graves again. ‘ He raised his voice. ‘But if we have any say in it, those graves will be Sovino’s and the Black Guard’s not yours. That’s why Father von Freising has brought us here. And that’s why we’re going to fight with him. ‘

‘Why the hell should you want to do that?’ cried a man standing up, his face almost totally covered with branching veins. Though young, he was bent like an old man. ‘Why would someone go to the trouble of coming all the way across the country to help someone who hasn’t even asked for help?’

The man had raised a question, which had been rattling round in the Prussian’s head and no doubt in the heads of his men too ever since they had left Göss. But they had never spoken about it, the goal had simply overridden everything else.

Why?

The outcasts looked anxiously at the Prussian. He looked round at the men, women and children and the signs they bore of the disease, and all at once he knew the answer.

‘Perhaps precisely for that very reason,’ he said. ‘And perhaps because we sense deep inside that it’s the right thing to do. And perhaps because we have nothing left in life other than to help those worse off than ourselves.’

The young man lowered his gaze and sat down again.

The Prussian thumped his fist on the bench. ‘If you don’t believe us, so be it. Just sit there and wait for your own destruction, but as for the rest of you just follow me!’

He walked past the rows of outcasts and went outside. Hans, Karl, Ludwig and Markus followed him.

The outcasts looked uncertainly at each other. Then Sophie stood up, and so did Anna and Magdalene, and they too left the church.

Heinrich looked at the villagers. ‘He’, he said, pointing to von Freising, ‘is our only chance. And his men. And the courage that has led them here. We need to stop distrusting them and help them instead. And in turn ourselves.’

No one said a word, everyone seemed to be considering and weighing up the situation.

Then old Melchior’s peevish voice rang out. ‘I’ll be damned if Heinrich isn’t right!’

He stood up and left the church–and the others followed him. Gradually all the pews emptied until only von Freising and Heinrich were left in the church.

Heinrich extended his hand to the Jesuit. ‘Thank you, Father, for coming and for thinking it worth fighting with us, whom you call-’ he hesitated, ‘the outcasts.’

Von Freising grasped Heinrich’s hand and squeezed it. ‘There are no outcasts here, no sick people, no healthy people–only God’s creatures, confronting a threat together and fighting for their lives and their future.’

Heinrich’s expression darkened. ‘For our lives, yes. But even if we manage to save them, our future remains as bleak as ever.’

Von Freising put his arm round his shoulder. ‘Don’t lose heart. Trust in the Lord. He will stand by us.’

And I hope he stands by Johann too, he added silently to himself. For, should they survive this battle, there might then be a future for this village and the tortured souls who inhabit it.

LXIV

‘We’re leaving now,’ whispered Johann outside the bedroom of the old couple. He and Wolff had slept in the parlour, near the stove.

Johann knocked again on the door but there was no response.

‘Sorry, but–’ Johann pushed the door open with a creak.

Then he looked down and stood very still for a while.